


a song i once heard

by writedeku



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: AKA Oikawa Attempts to Seduce Cute Stranger - Fails Badly, Alternate Universe - Adults, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Iwaizumi-centric, Kuroo/Iwaizumi friendship, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Unimpressed Iwaizumi, Wingman Kuroo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 03:01:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11819865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writedeku/pseuds/writedeku
Summary: He turns left at an intersection and as he walks, he hears the sound of a radio that grows louder as he trudges down the row of houses, until he comes to a small one at the end of the road. This one has been renovated, it’s almost completely different from the others in the street. The radio is coming from here, and as he looks over the fence, he sees a man in a mustard yellow sweater dancing around his kitchen to the song that’s playing.Hajime stops dead. Stares.





	a song i once heard

**Author's Note:**

> this was based off a prompt from discord that i sent to a friend but i got attached to hahaha  
> i'll link her work here when she's done!  
> it was also taken from fanficy-prompts on tumblr!
> 
> get ready for fluffy iwaoi with soft boy oikawa and try harder next time iwaizumi

Hajime is in a bad mood. It’s not uncommon. Frankly, it’s more uncommon for him to be in a  _good_ mood rather than a bad one. The reason for said mood is because he thinks he’s lost, and he’s very annoyed about that. That being said, the street he’s wandering is extremely pretty and peaceful. Trees line each side of the road, and it’s quiet here. Now that the sun is setting and it’s nearing November, the days are getting chillier. Hajime likes the temperature. It’s cool and settles in a wave across his nose and cheeks. He continues walking down the road, his hands in his pockets, wondering when he’d cave and call up Google Maps to tell him which street to turn down.

He turns left at an intersection and as he walks, he hears the sound of a radio that grows louder as he trudges down the row of houses, until he comes to a small one at the end of the road. This one has been renovated, it’s almost completely different from the others in the street. The radio is coming from here, and as he looks over the fence, he sees a man in a mustard yellow sweater dancing around his kitchen to the song that’s playing.

Hajime stops dead. Stares. If you looked closely enough, one could say his mouth was open, though he would vehemently deny it. It seems that the kitchen is separated from the garden through a set of sliding glass doors, and the man has left this open, so Hajime can even smell whatever he’s baking as he takes it out of the oven and places it on the counter. Oh. They’re cookies. They smell really good, even if the price he must’ve paid for them is his countertops, which are covered in such a thick layer of flour he reckons one could make snow angel in them.

Hajime shakes his head profusely, wants to tell himself to stop staring and move on, but he can’t. There’s something strangely endearing about the way this man snaps his fingers and twirls around, singing along softly to the song that plays, and it's not the fact that he looks absolutely gorgeous while he’s at it. Dimly he recognises the song as Hey Soul Sister, an old song that had recently seen resurgence, but it wasn't like he listened to the radio anyway. Hajime would bet you real money that the sweater's really soft. And that his hair is gelled, and that his skin is-

He stops his train of thought before it ran away with him and flicks his eyes back to the ground, but not before he’s been caught by the man in the sweater, who looks up, eyes baby brown and wide. A smile bursts onto his face.

Hajime staggers backwards a little.

“Is there something you need?” the man calls, wiping his hands on a dishtowel and stepping out into the garden. The setting sun hits his hair and makes it lighter; Hajime steps backwards  _even more._ Too bright. This man is too bright.

“Um,” Hajime says, eloquently, and then gets a grip on himself. His shoulders straighten, his eyes focus on a little alien stitched into the top right hand corner of his yellow sweater. “I’m lost. There’s supposed to be a cafe nearby? Do you know where it is?”

The man blinks at him, then smiles again. This time there’s something a little disconcerting about it, like it’s not all he’s making it out to be. “Do you mean Nekoma?”

Haijime vaguely remembers that name. It better be good for Kuroo dragging him all the way out here on an early Friday evening. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

“You’re a street too early. You should’ve turned right at the intersection, and then left when it opens out onto the road,” the man tells him. His eyes are bright and inquisitive.

“Okay,” he says. “Thanks.”

“Bye!” the man waves, and Hajime nods a goodbye.

Dang. He’s really cute.

* * *

Hajime has only been at the cafe for half an hour before they play the same song that was on in that man’s house, and suddenly he’s reminded of swaying hips and a lithe frame and inquisitive brown eyes. He shakes his head and stares at his coffee. It’s alright. He’ll never see him again, anyway. Kuroo probably dragged him here because of the barista he hasn’t stopped making eyes at since they came in.

“Who're you in love with this time?” Kuroo turns away from staring longingly at the barista to suddenly interrogating Hajime, who backs up in his seat and nearly drops his cup.

“I should be asking you that,” he deflects. “The barista, really? You told me this place was good.”

“It is good if it has cute boys,” Kuroo proclaims and nods very seriously. “But you’re the one who’s been staring at your coffee with a complicated expression on, and you only wear that expression if a, someone on the court has challenged you and b, if Iwaizumi I-Fall-In-Love-At-First-Sight Hajime has found yet another cute boy to add to his growing list of unrequited love.”

“You’re horrible,” Hajime stares at him and contemplates throwing his coffee on him, but settles for reliving the time his team soundly trashed Kuroo’s during a decisive match.  _That_ had been a good day. “I have not met anyone today.”

“Mhmm, sure,” Kuroo scans the coffeeshop and taps his chin. “I bet it’s the that guy,” he says, and points to a brown-haired man sitting in the corner.

Hajime nearly has a heart attack before realising this man looks nothing like the other. “No,” he deadpans.

“But he’s got brown hair,” Kuroo says intelligently, and a muscle in Hajime’s eye twitches. Damn this scheming scoundrel. Hajime would have his head one day, mark his words. “So tell me about him. What’s he like?”

“I don’t know him,” Hajime gives up and swirls his coffee around in his cup. “I just asked him for directions, that’s all. He’s not important.”

Kuroo mimics his words in a high, squeaky voice. “That’s what you said about the last one, and you went out for a year.”

“It was just a year," he leans his hand on his chin and lets his gaze wander. “It’s not my fault your relationships only last a month.”

Kuroo puts a hand over his heart in mock hurt. “In my defence, Lev was taller and younger than me, and while he was cute he put a serious damper on my ego.”

“Is that why the barista is tiny?”

“It may have something to do with why the barista is tiny,” Kuroo confirms, then does a little finger wave at the barista, who stares blankly back at him.

“He seems very into you,” Hajime remarks sarcastically. Kuroo's head whips towards him so fast Hajime worries for a moment about whiplash.

“I know, right? It's in the glimmer of his clearly uninterested eyes,” he sighs dreamily and sags into his chair. Hajime rolls his eyes, looks elsewhere- and just as he looks up at the wood frame door it swings open with the tingle of bells-

and Mr. Yellow Sweater walks in.

Hajime's cup hits the table a little too hard and Kuroo narrows his eyes at him. What's he doing here? Hajime’s brain scrambles for answers while he keeps a blank, straight face, and resolutely does  _not_ look at him, pulling out his phone to scroll blankly through his messages, which is why he misses Mr. Yellow Sweater walking up to his table and standing next to him.

Kuroo’s eyes swivel between his and Hajime’s.

“Is this him?” he asks, and Hajime’s eyes lift up from his phone to get a face full of those bright brown eyes.

“No,” Hajime says automatically, even as the man goes, “wait, you were talking about me?”

“We were not,” he continues, but Kuroo says, “he wouldn’t stop.”

Kuroo is officially the worst wingman ever, and Hajime will be sure to print out a long list of his faults and pass it to the barista before Kuroo even has the chance to enrapture him.

“He thinks you’re cute,” Kuroo adds.

Mr. Yellow Sweater doesn’t seem to be put off, because he kind of smiles a little softly, it’s not bright so much as gentle. “I came to give a packet to Kenma, so I thought I'd drop off a packet for you as well,” he fishes within his bag and gives it to him. It’s in a cute pale pink plastic wrap, tied with those metal gold bands you get on your bread.

Hajime stares at the delicate thing in his hands.“Thanks,” he says, and gives him a small smile.

“Bye, then,” the man says, and turns to leave, but as he goes Kuroo’s hand latches onto his wrist and tugs him back to the table.

“Is Kenma the man with the dye job?” Kuroo asks, intensely, and the man blinks at him. “What’s his type? Does he like boys? Would he like me?”

The man blinks at him once more. “I’ll tell you if you give me his number and name,” he says.

“Deal.”

“Hey!” Hajime complains, but Kuroo’s already snatching the man’s phone and typing it down in a hurry.

“His name’s Kozume Kenma. He likes video games and sleeping. You’re probably going to be too intense for him,” the man tells him honestly, with a bit of a dry air that has Kuroo wiping at his eyes. “But go ahead,” he shrugs. “Kenma’s pan.”

“And you?”

“I’m gay," the man grins at the new contact in his phone, and seconds later Hajime hears his phone ring. “Is he?”

“I’m right here,” Hajime deadpans, turning over his phone to check the notification.

“He’s very gay,” Kuroo answers. “But he’s a brute and  _mean._ You won’t like him.” 

 

 

 

> **from: unknown**
> 
> _hello iwa-chan!_

Hajime’s eye twitches.

 

 

 

> **to: unknown**
> 
> _Don’t call me Iwa-chan._

 

“Iwa-chan,” the man whines. “I can see why he calls you mean.”

“I-“ how did this happen? How did this…how? “I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Oikawa Tooru,” he says, and smiles blindingly again. He waves his phone and prances out the coffee shop. “Talk to you later, Iwa-chan!”

Hajime stares after him, mouth open. “Is he nine?”

“Who cares? He’s cute, bang him,” Kuroo points his fork at him. “I’m going to talk to Kenma.”

“I’m going home,” Hajime takes his bag and downs the rest of his coffee. He stares at the pale pink bag before he puts it in his pocket.

“So you do care!”

“Shut up.”

* * *

 

 

 

 

> **from: Oikawa Tooru**
> 
> _hey, iwa-chan, didn’t anyone tell you peeking into other people’s houses isn’t acceptable?_
> 
> **from: You**
> 
> _Then don’t leave your door open, Shittykawa._
> 
> **from: Oikawa Tooru**
> 
> _gah! you’re awful!_

Hajime’s head hurts. Sure, he thought the boy was cute, sure, he’s lying awake in bed thinking of a fever-bright dream, where the white and the sun hurt his eyes and there was only a boy with a smudge of flour on his nose, crossing his legs and turning around and around and…

He doesn’t understand why he can’t forget it. It was just dancing. He is just a boy.

 

 

 

> **from: Oikawa Tooru**
> 
> _what if i left my door open because…  
>  i wanted to see a cute guy?_
> 
> **from: You**
> 
> _Then you’re an idiot._
> 
> **from: Oikawa Tooru**
> 
> _if this is your idea of flirting_  
>  _it’s strange  
>  but i like it_
> 
> **from: You**
> 
> _Literally what part of this tells you that I’m flirting?_
> 
> **from: Oikawa Tooru**
> 
> _the part where you told me you were going to bed_  
>  _half an hour ago  
>  but you’re still up   
>  talking to me!!!_

Hajime stares at his phone in horror and promptly turns it off. Nope. No. Nada. Nein. 

* * *

 

 

 

> **from: Oikawa Tooru**
> 
> _iwa-chan?_  
>  _iwa-chaaaaaaan!!_  
>  _did you really just go to bed because i said that?_  
>  _you know, i know people who would kill to have my number_  
>  _and to have me call them iwa-chan._  
>  _well, not iwa-chan, but you get what i mean!_  
>  _iwa-channnn why are you so mean to me_
> 
> **from Oikawa Tooru:**
> 
> _ok so i tried going to sleep and i couldn’t_  
>  _i’ve been thinking, right_  
>  _are you an athlete? cause_  
>  _you’re ripped_  
>  _i’m just saying_  
>  _but it’s true_  
>  _what sports do you do_  
>  _the guy you were with also seems to play sports_  
>  _wait_  
>  _i’m going to google your name_
> 
> **from: Oikawa Tooru**
> 
> _oh my god!!!!!!!!_  
>  _i didn’t know you were that iwaizumi!!_  
>  _you’re the ace everyone talked about in high school haha_  
>  _i played setter!_  
>  _i was a really good setter_  
>  _we never played each other cause our team never made it to nationals_  
>  _because of shitty ushijima_  
>  _ok im going to sleep now_  
>  _have sweet dreams, iwa-chan!_
> 
> **from: Oikawa Tooru**
> 
> _good morning iwa-chan, did you sleep well?_

Hajime has only read his messages and he is exhausted already. He contemplates going back to sleep, but it’s already ten in the morning and far too late for him, so he swings his legs out of bed. He considers if it’s worth it to reply to Oikawa and let him know he’s awake.

 

 

 

> **from: You**
> 
> _Morning._  
>  _I don't play volleyball anymore. I’m a physiotherapist.  
>  For the record, I knew who you were once you introduced yourself.   
>  You were the captain of Seijoh._

It takes a while before the reply comes in, so Iwaizumi makes himself coffee and sits himself at the dining table, jangling his foot.

 

 

 

> **from: Oikawa Tooru**
> 
> _you did????? iwa-chan, i’m so touched._
> 
> **from: You**
> 
> _There were some years you looked close to making it to nationals. Our coach had us study Seijoh. Don’t get me wrong._
> 
> **from: Oikawa Tooru**
> 
> _not sure if offended or pleased.  
>  am both   
>  hey hey iwa-chan, let's meet for drinks tonight_

Hajime stares at his phone. Drinks? With him? Is it worth it? On one hand, bone aching tiredness, both emotionally and physically. On the other hand, cute boy. 

 

 

 

> **from: Oikawa Tooru**
> 
> _bring your friend  
>  kenma has texted me once (1) about him  
>  which means he wants to marry him, probably_

Hajime sends a screenshot over to Kuroo, who replies  _immediately_ as though summoned by the god of root touchups and secretly playing video games under the counter, Kenma.

 

 

 

> **from: kubro**
> 
> _um????? say yes????_  
>  _the fuck you waiting for???????  
>  hajime, i swear to god if you say no   
>  …i don’t know what i’d do yet but it will be bAD_

He snorts. Fine, he thinks. He’ll go out for drinks with them  _for Kuroo’s sake._ Because he’s a great friend. Actually, the last one is hard to believe. His brows furrow.

He spends the rest of the day answering his clients’ emails and watching random shows that come on the television. He makes leftovers for lunch and thinks  _life is good._

Except now that it’s time for him to get ready and he’s finished showering, he’s faced with an unusual problem. He would never admit this, but he has absolutely no idea what to wear, and it scares him because he’s never cared about what he’s worn before, they’re just  _clothes,_ but now he stares at his closet and thinks of a pastel soft boy with piercings and an overbright smile.

He slams his head on the wardrobe door. Eventually he goes with a grey hoodie and a white t-shirt with his black jeans, because he’s  _not_ trying to impress anyone. 

* * *

“I’m the designated driver,” he announces as soon as he slides into the booth where Kuroo is already waiting, his eyes bright and his hair even more spiky than usual. “Wow. Someone’s put in effort.”

“You too,” Kuroo leans forward conspiringly. “Isn’t that cologne I smell?”

“You need to stop that,” Hajime rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. “I’m here for you.”

“Lies. You're here for him,” and Kuroo jerks his head over to the door. Hajime turns around, and sees Oikawa slipping past people in a tight black long-sleeve with a crown embossed on the area over his heart. He’s got on ripped black jeans and curiously enough, thin round wire frame glasses.

“What happened to the pastel?” he whispers- no, more like croaks, because his mouth has suddenly dried up. 

“Dunno, but if he was cute before, he’s hot now,” Kuroo nods solemnly. “You should  _definitely_ hit that.”

Hajime’s eyes track his fluid movement to the booth, where upon his arrival he beams at them and slips into the seat next to him, while Kenma drops himself uncomfortably into the seat opposite Kuroo. It’s obvious this scene isn't something he’s used to, but Kuroo grins at him and says, “hello,” and Kenma's face settles into something that may look like a smile but isn't quite one too. It seems enough for Kuroo.

Oikawa nudges his side. “Hi there, Iwa-chan,” he says, and somehow manages to evoke the feeling writing ~ in a text gave, but verbally. He quite almost sparkles, and it doesn’t fit what he's wearing at all.

Hajime forces his voice to be gruff. “What happened to the pastel?”

Oikawa looks down at his clothes, then blinks up in innocence. “I'm multi-faceted.”

“Uh huh," Hajime nods. Kuroo stands up and says, “Kenma and I are getting drinks, what do you all want?”

“Water,” Hajime says.

Oikawa stares at him in horror. “What?!”

“I’m the designated driver. I brought my car and everything. No take backs,” he says quickly.

“I guess I should’ve made that clear,” Oikawa huffs. “Fine. Don’t drink anything,” his voice takes on a dangerous tone. He leans forward into his space. “But dance with me.”

Hajime’s brain short-circuits and struggles to reboot. “Okay,” he says, sounding a little strangled to the trained eye, namely Kuroo, who hides his snort in a cough.

* * *

 Oikawa can certainly hold his liquor; Hajime's lost count of how many shots he’s downed in the past hour. Kuroo had left half an hour ago, noticing how uncomfortable Kenma was and deciding to move their party to a nearby bar instead, where it was quiet and not loud with neon lights and the sound of someone screaming in the distance.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, standing next to him. When had he moved? “You said you’d dance with me.”

Hajime blinks at him, and, for the lack of a better voice of reason, takes his hand.

The way this boy dances now is very different from the way he danced back then when he was all soft eyes and pale lips, now he loops his arms around Hajime’s neck and pulls him in close, winds his hands up into his hair and tugs on it gently.

Ah, shit, shit, Kuroo’s prophecy is coming true, because Oikawa has a heady flush across his nose and cheeks and a sharp, wicked tongue. He’s not soft at all, Hajime has to quickly rework his earlier impression of the boy in the kitchen.

The real Oikawa Tooru is the one in front of him, vain and demanding, drunk on his own power, an easy word on his lips that mean nothing, a smile ready to disarm and conceal. He’s a ghost a waif an elusive  _thing,_ and yet Hajime doesn’t feel repulsed at all. He’s more intrigued than anything, to be honest.

Oikawa spins away from him and into the crowd, where he presses up against someone tall and kisses their neck, looking all the while straight at him. Hajime’s mouth quirks upwards. Is this how they’re going to play? Hajime has no time for the games of conceited boys.

He rolls his shoulders and tilts his head, an eyebrow raised.  _Go on_.

Oikawa smiles, and twists away once more. The person he now singles out is a tall black haired man, with a stern face and a jawline to rival his. He stands on his tiptoes to speak into his ear, then the man grabs his waist and yanks their hips together. A muscle in Hajime’s jaw twitches, but he says and does nothing.

Oikawa's hands are running over his front now, slipping under his t-shirt. He’s wearing another dangerous smirk, where his eyes are slightly glazed over and dilated, and hips keep moving to the beat.

Hajime swallows thickly. He waits until Oikawa looks back at the man before he goes to the bar and pays his tab, then stepping out into the cold night air. He only has to wait a minute or so before Oikawa is pushing the doors out of the way and standing outside, turning his head to face him.

Hajime considers him, then crooks a beckoning finger. He will not be played by Oikawa- for once, he will understand what it's like to wait on the words and the actions of another. Oikawa walks over to him stands in front of him. He’s a little taller than Hajime, but he tries not to let it bother him. He seizes a fistful of Oikawa’s shirt and pushes him against the wall.

“You know, I don't play dirty like that,” he says, his voice low. “And I don’t like people who do.”

“Do you not?” Oikawa’s eyes are half-lidded, his glasses askew. “You should punish me.”

“I should,” Hajime’s hand tightens on his shirt, then he lets him go. “Get in the car.”

The drive is silent. Oikawa looks at him out of the corner of his eyes but says nothing, just sags in his seat and leans his head on the window. Eventually, the car stops.

“This is my house,” Oikawa says.

“Have a good night,” Hajime deadpans, and unlocks the doors. “Set aside some water and Advil for tomorrow.”

“You aren’t gonna-“

“I am,” he smiles pleasantly. “This is your punishment. Enjoy it. Text me when you’re sober.”

Oikawa gapes at him, then he opens the car door and gets out. “You are really…something else, Iwaizumi.”

Hajime’s whole body shudders, and his hands tighten so much on the steering wheel his knuckles turn white. “Sleep well, Oikawa,” he says instead, and feels the slam of the car door in his bones.

* * *

 The radio plays the song Oikawa danced to in his kitchen on the way home, but Hajime no longer thinks of the yellow sweater and the hanging plants, he thinks of a dangerous smile and the breath on his ear from whispered words only he was supposed to hear. He likes both of them.

* * *

 

 

 

 

> **from: Oikawa Tooru**
> 
> _my head hurts iwa-chan  
>  make it better_

Once again, Hajime wakes up to a text from Oikawa. Although it’s only the second day, he decides he actually quite likes this expectant feeling of turning around and picking up his phone, and already knowing that there would be a message from someone who thinks of him enough to text him first thing in the morning.

 

 

 

> **from: You**
> 
> _You shouldn’t have drunk so much last night.  
>  Do you remember what happened?_
> 
> **from: Oikawa Tooru**
> 
> _i know you left me with a severe case of blue balls, iwa-chan.  
>  meanie_
> 
> **from: You**
> 
> _Maybe you shouldn't hit on other guys to try and make me jealous, Shittykawa.  
>  Try harder next time._
> 
> **from: Oikawa Tooru**
> 
> _i'll have you know that has worked on everyone but you  
>  but, also fine.   
>  what do you want me to do then_

What does Hajime want him to do? Hajime wants him to be  _real,_ not fake, not too soft or too intense. He wants to settle into the daily ebb of life, where he woke up to a text from Oikawa and had plans to look forward to. Where he made Oikawa smile that  _one_ smile he did when they first met in a coffee store, soft and real, with downcast eyes and a small blush on the sides of his face. 

 

 

 

> **from: You**
> 
> _Do this properly, or not at all._

It takes a while for the reply to come in- Hajime almost worries he’s picked  _not at all,_ and that he’d go back to being lonely with Kuroo.

 

 

 

> **from: Oikawa Tooru**
> 
> _meet me for coffee and cake at my place?  
>  i stress baked this morning_

That’s the most adorable sentence Hajime has ever heard. He  _stress bakes._ It’s almost too much for him to handle.

 

 

 

> **from: Oikawa Tooru**
> 
> _it’s a date_

Hajime swings his legs out of bed and stretches. He’d wear his red jacket and his black shirt today.

 

 

 

> **from: You**
> 
> _I’ll be there in half an hour._

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! please leave a kudos or a comment if you enjoyed, and if you want, check out my other haikyuu fics [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&work_search%5Bfandom_ids%5D%5B%5D=758208&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=0&user_id=stormfirej).


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